


i can't keep on being friendly (i cannot trust anybody)

by far2late



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne-centric, Disabled Character, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Messy, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Violence, loss of a leg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/far2late/pseuds/far2late
Summary: "Damian is not as easily beaten down as he would be portrayed, really. Grayson wins his respect soon after he starts training him, and when Drake brings his father back from his untimely death, he gains it as well. Todd only had it for being strong enough to survive the Lazarus Pit and the Leauge combined for the months he had by himself after he had come back from the dead.None of the respect he gives is returned in full, really. Not truly, at least. In the eyes of the Leauge, his eyes, it’s passable. Not acceptable, just passable."ora sloppy mistake leads to damian losing everything
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 219





	i can't keep on being friendly (i cannot trust anybody)

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired from the song "gold coast" by rich brian <3 happy reading

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, if anything, is incredibly capable when it comes to tasks beyond what normal children his age could accomplish. 

It’s one of the main points of his pride, really, and he makes no attempt to hold back this fact when he’s given a moment to pride himself on his accomplishments. Why should he? It’s not as though his mother didn’t teach him to take for himself when he needed to, it was one of the most important things he had ingrained in him through the League. 

The Leauge taught Damian much, much more than he ever anticipated he would ever need to know in the case of his training to take down threats. Trained under Ra’s himself and a legion of assassins had brought him little to no rest in his non-stop working to become something  _ great. _

When it came to the Leauge, there were two types of people. 

There were those whose names were emblazoned in history, seen as legends among time and Gods among mortals. They’re the protectors and killers and healers that bring to the world a touch unlike any other and find silver linings and bloodshed within regular men. They’re the type that the League holds above any other, the type that will never be forgotten and names passed down through old grandmothers and uncles during family gatherings. 

The other type were nobodies. Forgotten almost as quickly as they came to be, names fading into swirling winds of sand and dust with little grief. They’re the type to be stepping stones in a heroes story, another nobody to slay or a grieving mother to fuel the story along. That’s if they’re lucky at all, and when they don’t play these minuscule parts in their stories, they’re the ones trying to overhear them while they shovel dung and smell of days old rotting carcass. 

Damian is never expected to be one of the easily-forgotten of the world, he despises the notion that he may one day become them if he isn’t careful in how he acts or speaks or behaves. His obedience to the League is brought on by tradition going back generations and years of learning to be a puppet, though he wasn’t aware of it at the time. 

When he’s taken to Gotham, it’s hard to forget that this isn’t the way that people are raised, not in the slightest. He’s been taught to take and take and take without pause for a decade, and a few months of being told to give as much as you take is something that’s not easy for the assassin to grow warm to. The idea itself is ridiculous in notion, as it isn’t easy to give the same respect that he demands from others. 

He’s a prince, after all. He’s earned his respect, and he should expect that he be addressed with it. Drake and Todd had done little to earn the same respect that he had been beaten to gain, and this is something that just… doesn’t make sense. Not to him, not when compared to the way he had been raised. It seems unbecoming, disrespectful. 

Of course, he’s chided so much about this without anyone stopping to try and understand why he had such a problem when it came to these things. They easily blamed his upbringing but made little effort to understand just where he had come from and the training he had gone through. 

Damian knew that Drake had some inkling of what was going on with Ra’s, but barely enough to even begin to understand the way that Damian himself had been taught to feel, think, eat, spend his free time, and everything, really. No one  _ truly  _ understood, they hadn’t even had an inkling of the type of people they had been expected to be. Batman, or Bruce, had already had his reputation set out for him. His name would be whispered through history until the end of time, no doubt about it. His iron fist over the portrayal of the Dark Knight had lead to a reputation that would never be forgotten. He would not be forgotten, not by a long shot. 

Drake, Todd, and Grayson had a chance to do the same as Robin, to be emblazoned in depictions of non-fiction as the Dark KNight’s loyal partner, unwavering by his side for all of eternity. Another God among mortals and someone who would always be by Batman’s side. Batman and Robin went the saying. Simple as that. Of course, they had little chance of being written in history the same way they previously would have been, not when claiming themselves as Nightwing and Red Robin and Red Hood. 

The names were noteworthy, of course, but none had the same upbringing as the Dark Knight’s, forged from the man’s own hand of justice and darkness that was unwavering in its strict rules of how humanity shouldn’t act as Judge, Jury, and Executioner. Batman and Robin, Batman and Joker. The name came with its protegees but the Dark Knight himself would never be forgotten the way that someone such as Captain Boomerang or The Riddler would eventually be. 

Damian wants to be one of the unforgotten. He wanted his name to be never forgotten, and if he had to do so as Robin, so be it. He would build the hero’s reputation as a strong partner, loyal and competent to be by the side of Gotham’s protector. 

It’s what makes him try so hard with all he does, the same way he had tried when he was with the League. It just seemed like there was no  _ winning.  _ With the League, it’s too little, barely enough to pass by. More effort, more blood, more killing, not enough brute force, not enough stealth, not  _ enough.  _

In Gotham, it’s too much for the city, too much for Batman and Nightwing and Red Robin. Too many broken bones, too many cuts, not enough control, not enough restraint, too much blood and darkness and not enough  _ jokes  _ and  _ smiles _ . It’s hopeless. 

Damian is not as easily beaten down as he would be portrayed, really. Grayson wins his respect soon after he starts training him, and when Drake brings his father back from his untimely death, he gains it as well. Todd only had it for being strong enough to survive the Lazarus Pit and the Leauge combined for the months he had by himself after he had come back from the dead. 

None of the respect he gives is returned in full, really. Not truly, at least. In the eyes of the Leauge,  _ his  _ eyes, it’s passable. Not acceptable, just passable. 

Sitting on a ledge near the Police station with Bruce, he considered telling the man as much. He had little luck with discussing his past with the man beforehand, let alone trying to address something like not being the respect he was deserved to have. It was an iffy subject and often backed up by Grayson telling him that he could talk about anything but not making much of an effort to understand his past when he looked past the trauma part of it. 

Damian didn’t move from his silent vigil on the roof of the building as Batman moved to get up, eyes narrowed and locked on the skyscape of the city from afar, examining the area as though he had just seen it for the first time. Batman looked back to him as he noticed his small shadow hadn’t moved, and Damian didn’t move a muscle. After a couple of minutes, Batman turned to leave, but not before muttering his coordinates into the comms so Oracle would take them down in the case that Robin require assistance. 

It was a funny thought. Robin, requiring assistance. Neither Damian nor his mask of Robin would need help from those beneath him, not when he was fully capable of taking care of himself. 

Damian stood from his post almost twenty minutes after Batman had left, subtly doing his best to stretch out his cramped muscles. The crouch he had remained in was familiar but still uncomfortable in the slightest, aching when he stayed in it much longer than expected. He hadn’t thought his own mind would entrap him so long, but he happily welcomed a distraction as he caught sight of a suspicious vehicle making its way down the street at above-average speeds, rain-slick streets causing more of a problem as it slid across the wet streets.

It’s worthy of a small grin from the cold Robin, raising a hand to his ear as he spoke into his comm, glancing slightly to the left simply out of habit; it’s where Batman stands most of the time, of course. Robin right behind him, safe yet loyal. 

“Suspicious van sighted nearby Police Station. Converging on the vehicle,” He reported neatly, not bothering to listen for an answer as he jumped off the building he was keeping his vigil on, shooting out his grappling hook to catch himself as he was going and swinging overtop buildings through heavy rainfall as he followed the van, its erratic driving proving not to be a fluke as it continued. 

  
Damian had his suspicions that the driver was inebriated, but he did his best to observe to see if there were a pattern to the chaos the van was causing in the streets, almost hitting a few cars on the way as it made its way down the road wildly. Damian could practically hear the tires screeching from above, continuing to follow the vehicle as he concluded it was simply a drunk driver. 

Nothing bad, really. Not even something that needed proper interference besides popping the tires and leading the driver to the Police Station to sleep off whatever they had ingested, waking up sober and safe in the morning, if not in a holding cell more than often. 

Damian hopped down from a ledge and sat down carefully on the top of a traffic light far from the vehicle as he heard panicked beeping in the not-so-far distance. His small stature was probably the only thing keeping him up safely, one gloved hand on the slick bar that held up the lights and the other holding a handful of barbs to throw out in front of him as the car approached. 

He could see into the driver’s seat as the car got closer, taking note of the woman behind the steering wheel and the panic with which she tried to spin the car, movements sloppy. Damian tensed slightly, awaiting the perfect moment before he reached out, throwing the barbs in his hand. 

And slipping as he did so. 

His grip on the metal had been shifted as he leaned forward, and the rain had only proved to help with that as it created little traction paired with the metal, leading to him falling in front of the car, barbs landing a couple inches from his face as his eyes widened in the headlights of the car. 

The driver swerved to the best of her abilities at the object that seemingly fell from the sky, but the drunk state she was in made it too late to be of any help, and Damian could barely register the three seconds it took for this to happen before being greeted with screeching of tire against rubber, a crash, and a crunch of bone and flesh before being greeted with nothing but black. 

  
  
  
  
  


When he came to, it was to pain and barely held back screaming as he looked around, confused at what had happened. As soon as he spotted the car he was trapped under, his memories became clear and he almost scoffed before realizing it hurt him too much to breathe, let alone try to speak or express his displeased mood. 

Damian lifted his head, craning his neck to see what he was crushed under, leg throbbing mutely as he saw the large side of the car pinning it down. He shifted it slightly only to cry out as he brushed it against a sharp shard of torn metal that he couldn’t see, springing tears to his eyes out of surprise. 

It looked as though more than one car had crashed as he looked around closer, though none of the lights around indicated police there to help with the drunk drivers. Maybe he had only been out for a couple of minutes, probably ten by his estimates. The van he had been following was the one crushing his leg, while the other was smashed against the side of the first one, pinning his leg effectively and knocking the wind out of him. Damian expected cracked ribs, nothing too severe. 

Still, there was little chance that he would get out of this without someone’s help, not if he didn’t want to injure his leg enough to warrant weeks off patrol. With a heavy heart, he lifted his hand up to his comm, thankfully still intact throughout the entirety of the situation. 

“Requesting help,” He said begrudgingly, voice petulant as he spoke, “Leg is trapped under two cars, can’t move it in case of further injury.” The comms crackled as Drake snickered a little at his misfortune, which immediately made Damian regret calling in for help in the first place. 

“How’d you get yourself in that one?” Drake asked, his voice tinged in amusement as Damian frowned, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Drunk driver slipped down the roads and I made a mistake. I ended up in her way. Are you coming or not?” The last sentence was snappy, ego upset at the indication that Drake would laugh at him about this, as funny as it would have been should the roles have been reversed. 

“I’m close by,” Todd spoke up, voice slightly filtered and echoing in his helmet. “On my way, Demon.”

Damian huffed slightly at the nickname, immediately regretting it as his ribs ached painfully. He would have made to use his cape to wrap them if he didn’t fear moving would give him a gash right down his leg. 

After five minutes of insufferable waiting, he heard the tell-tale engine of the Red Hood’s motorcycle making its way over, paired with police sirens from the opposite side. Damian supposed that someone had called the authorities eventually, and they were finally coming to bring the drivers to the hospital. 

Hood made his way over quickly, examining the situation before moving to address the boy pinned under the car. “I’m gonna have to make this quick, okay? The police are coming, and it’d be a bad look for them to see a criminal atta car crash, got it?” He didn’t pause and wait for confirmation before moving to place his hands under the side of the car, getting ready to lift it off. 

With a rapidly-sinking feeling in his chest and the tell-tale feeling of the car’s torn metal pressing against his shin painfully, Damian knew this was all wrong, this wouldn’t end well at all. He sat up a little, managing to get out a  _ “Hood, wait-” _ Before the car was lifted up, and the metal tore through Damian’s skin roughly with a screech from the boy. 

Hood almost immediately moved it to the side, hissing profanities under his breath as Damian flinched at the hand touching his shin, screaming a bit at the touch, completely out of his own control. He could feel the rainwater sink into the exposed and torn flesh, feeling his blood boil under the rain. 

“Shit, shit, fuck,  _ shit, _ ” He heard Hood fuss as Damian curled up a bit, leg stretched out as he twitched slightly, squirming under Hood’s hands as he examined the deep cut on his leg. Damian could’ve sworn he saw bone under the skin as rainwater pelted the wound.

Damian couldn’t do much to move or protest as Hood lifted him up carefully, keeping the younger pressed to his chest with an arm as he drove on his motorcycle, making his way to someplace safe as fast as he could. 

The youngest Robin didn’t bother to try and stay conscious, the ravaging pain in his leg pulling him into shock and a blackness free from the hurt that he tried so hard to ignore, welcoming unconsciousness happily. 

His last thought was that his mother would be disappointed he couldn’t take the pain like a true heir. 

…

  
  


Damian spent most of his time in comforting blackness, fading in and out of consciousness without much of a thought otherwise. The darkness was responsibility-free, no burdens to keep him tied down with weights bound to his feet. He didn’t feel as much as he did before and certainly didn’t feel like he was drowning on dry land in the blackness. 

He was tugged from it against his own will, frowning and twitching under a hand and fingers snapping in front of his face. Damian opened his eyes to slivers before immediately slamming them shut at the bright lights that invaded his vision, shaking his head with a whine that was unbecoming of him. 

As though the hands had read his mind, the brightness behind his reddened eyelids grew dim, sinking into the black once more as he blinked open, the lights much dimmer as he had thought. Damian shifted a little where he lay, blinking hard as he moved a hand to rub at his eyes. 

It takes longer than he had previously thought to feel strong enough to sit up properly, looking around blearily to see Grayson, his father, Todd, and Drake by his bedside. It’s unnerving, if not annoying. He opened his mouth to say as much, voice grating even to his own ears. 

“Tt, is there a reason you’re all-”  _ Cough- _ “Huddled at my bedside as though I’m dying?” 

No one answered him, making him shift slightly under the sheets of his bed, uncomfortable. The silence is unnerving especially when it comes from Todd and Grayson, as the two of them are generally the loudest of the entire family. Damian looked around, face twisted slightly in confusion. 

“Well?” He questioned, looking at Drake, who simply winced before looking away from the younger. 

“What? How long have I been out?” He demanded, looking to Grayson for the answers. If there was anyone he could trust to be straight with him, it would be him. 

“About two weeks now, I think,” Grayson spoke after a moment, looking uncomfortable as he lead the conversation. Damian furrowed his eyebrows at the words, looking to Bruce for an explanation. The man in question made little action to assuage any of Damian’s growing confusion and panic. Drake didn’t even seem to want to stick around, immediately leaving after Grayson spoke up. 

“What have I missed? Why was I out for so long?” He asked, questions growing in speed. Grayson pressed his lips into a line, Todd taking it as a silent cue for him to answer those questions. 

“Well, it was ‘cause the crash you were in messed up your brain and you went into a sorta-coma,” Todd explained, though Damian didn’t take his eyes off of Grayson and the growing grief that seemed to press down on his body. 

“What have I missed?” He repeated, tone slightly pleading. That seemed to be the last thing that pushed at Grayson’s resolve, as he sat up with a frown. 

“You, uh… The wound on your leg. When you came to the cave, it had been doused in all the rainwater, and it was unclean. We did the best we could to clean the wound out but… It was infected. Your leg. And it was spreading so, so fast, and we… we couldn’t-” 

“We couldn’t save your leg. I’m sorry, chum,” Bruce cut in, voice quiet and as rough as Damian had ever heard it. 

The words barely registered in his mind, bringing his brain to a full stop as he kept his eyes locked onto Bruce, flickering between him and Todd and Grayson, eyes widening slightly. 

“What do you mean? It’s- stop  _ lying  _ to me!” Damian insisted, yanking the blanket off him to see that his left leg was  _ gone.  _

The space where it had been was nothing, and from his knee-up, the limb was bandaged carefully and cleanly. Damian’s eyes grew wider, breath ragged in his throat as he curled up closer to himself, choking back a sob as he saw the nub move with him. 

“ _What did you do to me?!_ ” He shrieked, arms wrapped around himself as Bruce let out a pained noise and Grayson moved forward to wrap his arms around Damian, curling up into the hospital bed. Damian pushed at him harshly, words screeching as he spoke them and batted at Grayson’s chest, punching at it as he screamed. 

“I  _ hate  _ you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, what did you  _ do  _ to me, what did you do to me, what did you  _ do- _ ” Damian’s voice broke at the last word, sobbing into Grayson’s shoulder as he petted his hair and rubbed his back, holding the younger close. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Grayson repeated, again and again as Damian cried himself into nothing as he shook in Grayson’s arms, sobs ripping out of him against his own will. 

It would not be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> will maybe write a follow-up to this? depends on the feedback i get and how interested people are in a sequel to a story like this. i hope u enjoyed reading this and i didn't hurt any of u too badly. thanks for reading <3


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